


The Iridescent Disasters of Winona and Ethan

by hallucinari



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallucinari/pseuds/hallucinari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are light and you are dark. You are always there but at one point, always at one point, I lose you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Iridescent Disasters of Winona and Ethan

**Author's Note:**

> For Frank and Jeredeine. May you find, in the end, that whatever it was that you felt is always going to be beautiful and terrifying and happy and sad. And it happened. It will always be in you. 
> 
> I love you both.

Their conversations were her well-kept secrets. Her favorite ones. Her cup of coffee in early January mornings. Her afternoon showers in the middle of May. She have always adored him. And as always, he was her little secret. Her favorite one. She had built walls around her and beneath that was a beautiful garden of all sorts of flowers. And he was the one who wondered for entry. 

He had brought her brownies once. "That's what they call good elves, you know. Brownies. When you treat them right, they return the favor. Might even sweep your kitchen floor at night," he pinched her nose, explaining his present. She scoffs, "I'll never clean your kitchen floor." He smiles. 

He doesn't know her like his favorite book. She's more like like his favorite painting in the art museum. He can never take her with him in places he wants her to be but he can keep coming back to watch her. Observe her, adore her from a distance. Because that's what she was. She was art in his favorite form. And he was never really the kind of boy who takes. 

"Winona Sarah. Why'd they name you that?"  
"Why do you ask so many questions I have no answers to?"  
"Do you want me to keep quiet instead?"  
"There you are again with the questions, Ethan Patrick." 

And again, he falls silent. He always fell silent. She was always fireworks. And that was okay. It was like the rest just bore him and she's a burning building and he's running straight at it. 

Her mother disagreed with Winona many times. Countless, endless times. But her mother agreed with the thought of him. It was a gentle smile during supper time. When her eyes were soft and they were saying, "Darling, it's alright. I can feel it in my veins, he is something else." And Winona nods. Doubts, but nods. 

They understood each other perfectly. How they felt were forest fires and hurricanes all at once. Their conversations were gentle whispers at night. When the curtains were drawn and the windows were clear and raindrops fell and thunder clapped. But they were both safe. 

"What do you fear the most?"  
"Giant robotic slugs."  
"E. I'm serious."  
"So am I, W."  
"How can you fear something that you're not even sure exists?"  
"Isn't that why you're afraid of most things, W?"  
"Stop figuring me out, E."  
"I can't help it." 

One February night, their imaginary music swelled, washing over them in waves as they whirled around dancing in the kitchen in the refrigerator light. She had told a couple of lies that night. Her fireworks became a bonfire. Silent. Beautiful, but silent. 

"Show me all the parts of you that you do not love so I know where to begin." 

Suddenly, he knew. When she looked his way, he struggled to keep his breathing steady. And he found himself thinking of her ink-stained hands. How she prefers her ballpens blue instead of black. He found himself watching this glorious painting in an art museum and it was beautiful. It was so, so beautiful he didn't dare touch it. She was electric. And he was afraid of the buzz. 

"A date? Is that what he calls it? More like a scripted scene from a situation comedy." She throws her shoe from across the room. Georgie stands with her arms crossed from the bathroom door, her toothpaste in hand. She clicks her tongue. That was the day Winona learned that time, space, and everything in between cannot be ordered into places. You cannot simply tamper with gravity. 

One day, it wasn't January anymore and she didn't need a cup of coffee to keep her warm. It wasn't May and she didn't want a shower. "Toast and apples can stand on their own, Georgie." She sighs. "And I don't think I like coffee anymore. They keep me up at night when I want to sleep." 

Then her garden withered. The grass were overgrown and the flowers died. And he went away. She went further. And they were gone. Suddenly, her secrets were a book in the public library and he stopped going to the art museum. Whatever words they'd hoped to say died on their lips. 

He always seeks her in every woman. She seeks him in the spaces between her fingers. 

They sat out on the porch in the watery sunlight for a long time, and he watched the dogs chase the water birds out of the reeds, and she wondered if she’d made the right choice after all. To stay away. To extinguish forest fires and fix all the damage the hurricane has done. 

"W? We'll be together again, won't we? One day."  
"I will find someone else, E. And you'll be gone."  
"No, I won't."  
"How do you know?"  
"Because I'm a tattoo, Winona."  
"You are."  
"Mm."  
"I hate you. You're under my skin and I hate you."  
"No, you don't."  
"How do you know?"  
"You're still here, Winona."  
"I'll be gone soon, Ethan."  
"If that happens, I'll have giant robitic slugs with me all day."  
"Giant robotic slugs don't exist, E."  
"Stop being stubborn, W. The point is that we'll start again one day. You'll get bored of my old stories again. You'll hate me for bringing you brownies and cooking you awful pancakes. We'll get a dog and we'll live by the beach. I refuse to think of a future without you, Winona Sarah. And I will miss you. If I don't miss you, a part of me is dead." 

They had the kind of love you can't get rid of. The kind that you think you have forgotten. But you'll find under your lip, at the back of your throat. It's a hole in your stomach. A pain you'll find clutching during the busiest hours. The kind that will sting you during the night. And the day. And every hour in between. And losing it hurt more than the poets warned. 

_Darling, I cannot move mountains for you but one day, when we find a way back to each other, I am more than willing to try._

She wants to look at him and feel nothing. She wants, she wants, she wants. It cannot be done. Every second was a postcard saying "Hey, wish you were here." 

And he sits in hope. Once again, in the art museum. Once again, by the tall walls of her heart and he wonders about the garden beneath. Wondering when the walls would break for him again. Wondering when he can re-learn his way back in. 

How strange, how strange, how very strange. That after everything, they are strangers once again. 

But you see, the thing of it is this: under the same sky, in another time, together they are laughing. Laughing, because in some other time, they are apart.


End file.
